Pork chops, haircuts and a lot of fuss

I am in a wonderful relationship. My boyfriend and I get along so well, we probably make all our friends sick to their stomachs. So why, then, do I go on these neurotic trips where I think the stupidest little thing is going to make him throw his hands in the air and confess "I can't do this anymore! What was I thinking?! I can be with someone who doesn't know how to pick out pork chops!"

Now, I know you are laughing at me right now. And that's ok. Because when I finally confessed to Boyfriend why I was a babbling, nervous mess, we both laughed at the absurdity.

Did I really think he would dump me because I don't know the difference between a loin and a chop? Or because I used the wrong knife to cut an apple? Or I cut my hair too short?

Of course not! I know in my head he wouldn't be so petty. So where on earth did this come from?

My girlfriend in Florida told me she does the same thing.

Florida: I was cooking for my guy the other night and I was scared that if he didn't totally like it he would never speak to me again. Actually, I freak out like that on a daily basis.

Me: Why do we think like this? It makes no sense, if you look at it rationally.

Florida: Because we've allowed people to beat us down and now we don't understand a good thing when we see it.

I think she's right, as usual.

In past relationships, I've gotten into arguments for the most basic decisions. You should've heard the the crap I got when I had my hair cut! Each time I made choices that went against the grain, I had vigorously to defend myself, my feelings and my beliefs. And it chipped away at my confidence a bit at a time. No wonder so many of us have issues with these kinds of things making up our pasts.

How can couples can survive now-a-days with the way people treat one another? It's amazing that two kind, caring people can find each other in this fucked up world. It's one instance where saying, "You Deserve Each Other" is a huge compliment.

It makes me really appreciate relationships like my parents, who have been married over thirty years. Or my friends, who have been together since they were in high school. What they have is nothing short of a miracle.

I just hope Boyfriend and I can keep laughing about these silly episodes of mine.

Maybe eventually, I'll stop worrying... but then that wouldn't be me, now would it?

San Francisco Guys

I can always spot a foreign-boy in San Francisco. And there's one really obvious way you can tell if he's an east-coaster visiting college buddies or a European on vacation -- it's if they look clean. I mean, really clean. Like just scrubbed down with bleach, dried in fresh country air, and polished 'til pristine with only the finest toiletries known to man.


Our San Francisco guys always look a little dirty. In comparison, they are scruffy and rough around the edges, like an unfinished work of art (or if you're not so lucky, a crappy piece for craft-art you found at the Ashby Flea Market). Even if he's one of the guys who showers most of the time, he still has that look that says he really doesn't care. SF guys only shave every other day, they don’t own a ties, or a pair of pants other than jeans. Maybe it's the laid back atmosphere, mellow climate, deep-routed counter-culture, or something in the water. Who knows?


Now, don't get the wrong impression here... I like it this way. The Euros look a little too sterile; like bigger than life-sized Ken dolls that might break if you rub up against them too hard. Those guys are boring, proper, fitting-the-mold-to-a-T. Who can handle that for anything more than a weekend romp playing the sexy tour guide. So yeah, I think I prefer my boys a little rough around the edges. Dirty boys keep life interesting!